


A thoughtful gift

by Neonbat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, John's Jumpers, Kind of Plot, M/M, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a new jumper and it is driving Sherlock to distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A thoughtful gift

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own anything sherlock, usual disclaimer, blahblah

The light of the streets filtered in through a crack in the curtains, illuminating the ever present dust particles that ghosted through the cluttered flat.  Only the crinkling of a newspaper at John’s fingertips interrupted the silence that had been three hours deep at this point.  Not that it had done any bloody good, for Sherlock was no deeper into his new mystery than he was before.

 

A petulant scowl had turned his angular lips, one that John had attributed to a rather baffling case of a man found dead in a subway car with no clear signs of how he had actually died.  The man was a boring sort, career man working a meaningless desk job with equally meaningless belongings found upon him.  Replaying the scene over and over in his head had done nothing to spur on any form of epiphany.  From what he deduced thus far, William McAllen had been a sedentary man of forty-five, with a paunchy middle, and a receding hairline.  From the numerous hairs on his jacket, he knew that the man’s wife had a sizable amount of cats, and that McAllen had been allergic by the residual redness around his eyes and nose, and the balled-up tissues in his left trouser pocket.  His collar had been wrinkled..

 

Sherlock blanched faintly, his body giving an involuntary wiggle in his leather chair.

 

His collar had been…

 

A growl tore from his throat a moment later as he flung his arms up in distress.  ” _John_ , I have stood it long enough.  Take it off.”  He snapped, serpentine eyes bore down on the garish, plush monstrosity that was his flatmate’s new jumper.

 

“... Pardon?”  John’s eyes peered over his sagging paper with one of his pale brows quirked.  It took a moment for him to realize just what Sherlock was gazing so vehemently at.  ”It was a gift.”  It came off a bit defensive, but Mrs. Hudson had bought it for him while on a trip to visit her dear sister in Bristol.  It made her happy to see him wear it, and he adored the woman like a mother.

 

Obviously, that was not the right response, for Sherlock had propelled himself from his chair with the same ridiculous grace that he always managed, despite being so long and lean.  John couldn’t even fathom a man of that size being so  _elegant_ , but then again, he could scarcely fathom most of what Sherlock was.

 

“I can’t think with that hideous thing on!  It is  _yelling_  at me, John!”  He felt ridiculous, being distracted by that olive atrocity, but the fact still stood.  It had to be destroyed.  “Take.  It.  Off.”  He had crossed the gap between their chairs in two quick strides of his long legs.

 

“Sherlock… _Sherlock!?”_   What in the bloody hell did Sherlock think he was doing?  The curly-haired git tossed his half-read paper aside, almost knocking over the table lamp in the process.  The taller man’s body had descended upon him like a feral cat, legs slipping between his own, and thankfully, Sherlock had managed to avoid kneeing him in the groin in the process.

 

“How am I supposed to solve a case when this-“  Sherlock’s hands dove for the offending article, gripping his spindly digits underneath the bottom hem despite John’s wriggles and protests.  ”- _thing_  is distracting me?”  The shorter male grunted in indignation as he was being made to forcibly strip in the living room, but that didn’t stop Sherlock.

 

“You’re being ridiculous...!  Let me up and I’ll go-   _Sherlock!”_ His voice had risen to a rather appalling octave as the consulting detective’s fingers moved against his middle, the jumper now half raised up his torso.

 

Sherlock paused, his lips pressing at a thin line that John swore meant he was trying to stifle a snigger at his expense.

  
“Ticklish John...?  How very...  Surprising.”  Smug bastard, John thought, as he stared up into those glittering slits that hung above him. Mocking him.

 

“I’ll show you, you wanker-“  Once again, his objection was cut off as Sherlock redoubled his efforts, pulling and tugging the unshapely knit from his body.  His body had slid further into John’s chair, encroaching until he was forced to straddle John’s lap to gain leverage.

 

His hands invaded with purpose, nearly divesting him of his undershirt along with the jumper.  The undershirt had raised, his pale middle bared to the chilly air of the mid-November flat. John twisted and bucked, trying to dislodge Sherlock from his lap in a vain attempt to salvage the jumper that was surely ruined beyond all recognition by all of Sherlock’s tugging.

 

“I insist you be. still. John.”  The taller man hissed, frowning down at his friend as if he was deliberating trying to cause him distress.  ”You are being unreasonable.”

 

“ _I’m_ being unreasonable?”  John snipped back, huffing in disbelief as Sherlock switched tactics.  His left hand had managed to catch hold of both John’s wrists, heaving them above his head with the advantage of his higher position, leaving his right hand to freely work the jumper higher and higher.  “I’m not the one stripping a grown man in his own chair!”  The smirk on Sherlock’s lips only deepened at John’s tirade as his flushed face disappeared past the layer of bulky wool as it was pulled past his head.

 

The undershirt soon joined the jumper’s ascent, and it wasn’t until Sherlock nearly had John divested of his jumper, did he noticed that he had managed to completely undress his upper half in the process.  The blond man’s chest rose and fell in annoyed huffs, hips still putting up a weak fight underneath him, a position that Sherlock only became acutely aware of now.

 

How had he managed to do that without noticing...?  When had he become so comfortable being near John that he didn’t even notice when he was so close to him that he could feel the warmth radiating off his flesh.  Flesh that was growing goose-fleshed in the brisk air of the room.  A small trail of hair trailed down below John’s navel and into his trousers, something that Sherlock surely hadn’t noticed until now.  It was the same tawny color as the interesting shade of his head, soft looking and barely discernible against the paleness of his stomach.

 

His gaze rose, trailing up the length of John’s torso, searching for more little bits of John that he hadn’t known about.  His chest was hairless.  Most likely because he didn’t grow hair very thickly that he just decided to shave off what little patches cropped up.

 

His mind abruptly skipped, and for what reason, he couldn’t accurately explain.

 

_John’s strong hands lathering up foam to slip against his chest as he ghosted a razor over the sparse hair upon his chest, water streaming against his back as he stood facing the tiled wall, steam filling the little bathroom they shared._

 

Shared...  That wasn’t something he hadn’t thought of before.  It seemed silly that he hadn’t.  Of course, they showered in the same shower...  But it had never seemed important before.  Why did it seem so important now?

 

“…Sherlock?”  His muffled name made him momentarily rose from his introspection.  John must be wondering why Sherlock still held him, jumper still covering his face while his body was still bared to him.  It must be a vulnerable position to be in, but here he was, letting Sherlock do as he may.

 

Did John trust him so much?  He could literally strangle him with his own sweater before John knew what was happening and do nothing about it.  Not that he would.  Sherlock couldn’t imagine harming John in any way.  In fact, the very thought along made an uncomfortable twisting sensation descend into his chest.

 

Also peculiar.

 

Unbeknownst to him, his breathing had become shallow, and his free hand slowly began to descend onto the flat expanse of John’s sternum.  The shorter male tensed for a brief moment, the question in his posture almost screaming at him, wondering what in this world had gotten into him. 

  _What are you doing, Sherlock?  I don’t know, John.  Why are you touching me, Sherlock? I don’t know, John._

 

He gulped thickly, quivering fingertips ghosting along the dip between his pectoral muscles, eyes briefly noting the light russet of John’s nipples, perked in the cold air. Strange...  So strange.  He had never wondered about John’s nipples before.  Was it due to the proximity?  Or just the thrill of seeing something new?

 

Sherlock’s teeth grit in frustration, unable to process just  _why_  he found this new expanse of skin so inviting.  Nudity had never been something he had put into stock before, it just wasn’t important... The Woman had bared herself before him and it had not sparked this reaction, the  _need_  to touch, as John’s body was doing to him now.

 

“Be still, John...”  His voice came out hushed, as if he was afraid to speak loudly.  Why?   _Why?_

 

His fingers brushed John’s left bud, sending a rather curious reaction through the smaller man’s body in form of another small squeak and jerk of his body underneath him.  He needed more data.  Much more.

Still holding John’s arms aloft, he began to circle his index finger around John’s nipple.  Round and round, until the nub stood erect and bright.  John’s shifting intensified, a faint ‘Sherlock’ brushing his lips underneath the shield of the jumper, full of question and undeniable arousal.

 

He could imagine John’s face now, flushed and slightly perturbed at how Sherlock was holding him.  A man of the army should not be held so undignified, but here he was, letting him.  Letting him explore to his heart’s content.

 

His hand had begun to shake in its searching, adding another ‘why’ to the now long list that was writing itself in his mind.  Another chapter to add to John’s wing of his Mind Palace.  When had it become a wing, instead of the room it used to be?  When had his mind become so full of one person that hearing their name could fill him with… with...  What was the word?  The emotion?

 

Warmth?  Yes, that was close enough.  John filled him with warmth... Comfort.  Reassurance.  Desperation.  Adoration. The words kept tumbling over themselves after the initial, coming with more fervor and ease as his fingernails dug faint lines into John’s chest just to see what would happen.

John shuddered, full bodied and earnest.  Sherlock’s tongue peered past dry lips to moisten them as he gazed down at his flatmate with an intensity he didn’t know he was capable of in this context.  His heart felt like a caged bird in his chest, and he felt a flush deepen upon his own cheeks in response to John’s reaction.

 

In a sudden, swift motion, Sherlock jerked the jumper and undershirt off, and tossed it behind the chair, staying poised upon John’s lap with wide, dilated eyes boring down upon the other.  John’s hair was messy and chaotic from the struggle, and his face was just as Sherlock imagined and more.  His cheeks had gone dusky, and his eyes glazed from confusion and desire from Sherlock’s tampering of his body.

“Sh-sherlock... what are you-“  Sherlock closed the gap, almost too earnestly, crushing their lips together with a sort of desperation and intensity that made John bristle and turn to jelly within the same second.  The curly-haired man scrabbled at John’s shoulders for some sort of hold as he worked his lips against John without care, unaware that most people reserved themselves, frightened that they would see over-eager or inexperienced.  Sherlock had no such shame.  He bit and licked with urgency, as if he was afraid that John would shove him off at any moment.

 

John’s hands slid up Sherlock’s back, hard and quick as he tried to find purchase in the onslaught.  Finally, he managed to grab hold of a fist of hair, and he pulled, breaking the kiss with hard breaths gasped from the both of them.  Sherlock’s lips were swollen and obscene, glossy with saliva and red from the brutal kiss.

 

“J-john, I... I don’t know what came over...  I’m-“  This time, it was Sherlock who was cut short, as John’s head reached to press a rough kiss against the taller man’s exposed neck.  He replied with the same vigor, sucking red marks into Sherlock’s porcelain skin, and dotting it with little nicks from his teeth.  With each ministration Sherlock whimpered and writhed above him, grinding his hips subconsciously down onto his lap.  He looked destroyed and all they had done was neck and kiss.  Perhaps Sherlock really  _hadn’t_  done something like this before.

 

John felt the heat build within him at the thought that perhaps Sherlock just hadn’t noticed anyone else.

 

“J-john!”  John’s hands were working their way up Sherlock’s own shirt now, and he bereft the taller male of his clothing far faster than Sherlock had done to him.  The silk shirt John was sure cost more than five of his shirts combined joined the growing pile on the floor.

 

His lips found their way to Sherlock’s chest this time, continuing his attack. His arms had wrapped around Sherlock’s waist, keeping him from tumbling backwards as he arched into John’s lips and tongue, shivering and shuddering under each new sensation.  His mind had completely derailed, only brief snippets of half-form coherency fleeting through his over-stimulated nerves.

 

 _More.Harder.Hot.Need.John.There.Oh god.John..._ **_John._ **

 

Finally, John’s head rose with another gasp, pulling Sherlock against him as the dark haired man tilted his head to stare down at the ex-army doctor with new awe, as if he was seeing John for the first time.  The gaze only lasted another moment before their lips found their way together again, and Sherlock was entranced once more.

 

Faintly, he registered John’s hands pulling at the belt of his trousers, and then the button and his stomach did a flip of anticipation.  No one had ever touched him before...  He only succumbed when his body’s hormones decided what it needed with desperation, and even then, he had never  _enjoyed_  it.  It was just something to get through so he could clear his mind again.  Just like eating, or sleeping. 

 

Never  _fun._

 

But here he was, whimpering into John’s lips as the shorter man pressed his hand briefly to Sherlock’s hip to tell him to raise just a fraction more so he could work his briefs down around him.  He complied instantaneously, and for the first time in his life, he felt someone else take him into their hands.

John’s fingers wrapped around Sherlock’s thick, angular manhood, slipping up its length to take in the shape of it with unbridled curiosity.  The tip was a tantalizing red against the paleness of his body, urgent with need and pulsing with desire.  With his free hand, he continued to let his fingers tangle in Sherlock’s unruly locks, noting with satisfaction that each time he gave it a tug, Sherlock would quiver.  Of course, the pompous ass would be a hellion in the sack.  As if John needed another reason to love him.

 

The fingers at his own waist made his breath hitch in surprise.  He hadn’t expected Sherlock to reciprocate...  Actually, he wasn’t exactly sure he had expected anything of this at all.  When he had felt Sherlock play with his chest minutes prior, he had assumed the prat was teasing him for being ticklish, it wasn’t until he began torturing his nipples with interest that he had began to hope for more. He had long lusted over this brilliant, frustrating man...  From the moment he had laid eyes on him, John had known that Sherlock was like a raging storm.  Beautiful and deadly, but fleeting in its interest.  He had been content to carry on in his wake, tailing him eagerly and keeping his desire unknown.  That had not been an easy task, mind you, and he only attributed Sherlock's inability to fathom physical desire towards himself that John had eluded discovery.  Until now anyway.

 

 Sherlock’s hands were cautious and clumsy, twitching each time John’s own hand felt over Sherlock’s erection in a new way.  Finally, Sherlock freed him, a purring groan of contentment sounding from deep within his throat as he wrapped his sinfully long fingers around the doctor’s thickness.  In some back corner of his mind he noted that John’s penis was different than his own, it matched his stature and personality, as his own did.  It was thick and heavy, with a darker tone of head than his own, and didn’t carry the curve that his did.  It was fascinating, finding the differences, and he found himself cataloging each new piece of John’s body with obsessive glee.

 

They groped and kissed, John slipping his tongue into Sherlock’s with a sound of surprise from the man above him.  Sherlock was a quick study, and before long, John found himself in the midst of the most ecstasy he had ever felt in his life.  With each kiss, Sherlock grew in boldness and surety, noting what made John’s breath hitch, and what made him moan.  And, oh, those moans.  Each vocalization made Sherlock’s cock twitch and fill him with new pulses of electricity.  Beyond the drugs.  Beyond the murders...  This was, this was euphoria, the likes of which he had never experienced in his life.  This was  _John._

 

He came hard, bucking into John’s hands and against his length, back arching as he rode the waves of his orgasm until he was a twitching, spent mess.  He had enough awareness left to peer at John as he felt the shorter male come against him, etching each line of John’s face as he was blessed in his own orgasm as if he might never see the likes of it again.  It was beautiful, watching his, and yes,  _his_  John come apart underneath him, so vulnerable, so beautiful in his naked rawness.

 

As they panted against each other, sticky and slick with sweat, Sherlock basked in the lazy kisses John pressed against his collarbones and jaw.  How had he not noticed this man in such a waybefore?  How had he stood there with John by his side and not realized how  _beautiful_  he was?  How utterly useless he was without him?

 

Well, he would endeavor to not make the same mistake again.  He wouldn’t let John slip from his fingers, he would horde him greedily within him and worship his brilliance.  John would be his new addiction...  Beyond addiction. He would be...

 

He would be...

 

“You prat...”  John breathed into the crook of his neck with an airy, fond chortle.

Sherlock grinned, leaning into John without a care of crushing John further into the plush chair.  ”... In all fairness, it was a truly hideous jumper, John.”

 

He paused.

 

“Mrs. Hudson will have to get you a new one.”

**Author's Note:**

> For more updates go to http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/


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